The Hinge Experiment: Kelli Is Out, Gina Is Alive, and Who Is “Missing Me”?

Another day, another update from The Hinge Experiment™.

We have movement.

We have casualties.

We have new contestants.

And I still have absolutely no idea how modern dating works.

Kelli Has Left the Building

Let's begin with Kelli.

I unmatched her.

I tried.

I asked questions. I tried to start conversations. I suggested getting together. I even gave her my Google Voice number.

The baseball game is officially over.

She struck out.

Or I struck out.

Maybe everyone struck out.

Either way, she has my number. If she suddenly wakes up one morning and thinks:

"You know who I really need to talk to? That bald guy who kept asking me actual questions."

She knows how to reach me.

Do I expect that to happen?

No.

But I've been wrong before.

Meanwhile... Gina!

Remember Gina?

Match Number Two?

SHE SENT ME A MESSAGE TODAY!

That's right.

An unsolicited communication!

I didn't have to poke the conversation with a stick to see if it was still alive.

She sent a message.

I responded.

And now we'll see what happens.

At this point, my expectations have been recalibrated to the point that receiving a message on a dating app feels like winning a scratch-off ticket.

I'm not buying a yacht yet, but...

WE HAVE COMMUNICATION!

And Then There's “Missing Me”

We also have Match Number Three.

Her name—or at least her Hinge name—is:

“Missing Me.”

Okay.

That's mysterious.

She asked me:

“How was your weekend?”

Now THAT is a question.

A real question!

Something I can answer!

So naturally, because I apparently don't understand the concept of brevity, I wrote a freaking diatribe.

I told her about going to New York City.

The trip.

What I did.

What happened.

Basically, she asked how my weekend was, and I responded as if she had commissioned an autobiographical essay.

But here's the thing:

I gave her material!

Lots of it!

There were approximately 47 directions the conversation could have taken.

Ask me about New York.

Tell me about your weekend.

Ask why I went.

Tell me you love New York.

Tell me you hate New York.

Tell me you've never been to New York.

Ask about the food.

Ask about the flight.

Tell me I'm insane for writing that much in response to a simple question.

ANYTHING.

Then this morning...

“Good morning.”

Oh.

We've been here before.

GOOD MORNING!

I'm starting to wonder if Hinge is actually a dating app or an extremely inefficient morning-greeting service.

Don't get me wrong.

“Good morning” is nice.

It's friendly.

It's polite.

But what happens after good morning?

COMMUNICATE WITH ME!

This is the part of online dating that I genuinely don't understand.

I see Facebook Reels.

I see TikToks.

I see dating profiles.

Over and over, women say they want a man who:

“Communicates.”

Excellent!

SO DO I!

But apparently, we need to establish what “communicates” means.

I don't need a 37-page PDF outlining your thoughts and feelings.

I don't need hourly status updates.

I don't need:

10:42 AM — Going to Publix.
11:17 AM — Purchased bananas.
11:32 AM — Returning home.

But if you ask me a question and I give you an actual answer, maybe grab onto something I said.

Ask a follow-up question.

Tell me something about yourself.

Give me something to work with.

Conversation is supposed to be a tennis match.

Hit the damn ball back!

Am I Expecting Too Much?

And that's my legitimate question.

Am I expecting too much?

Maybe I am.

Maybe dating apps aren't supposed to produce immediate, flowing conversations.

Maybe people are cautious.

Maybe they're talking to five other matches.

Maybe they're busy.

Maybe some people are terrible at texting.

I understand all of that.

But I'm not asking someone to pick out china patterns after three messages.

I'm trying to have a conversation.

Ask me something.

I'll ask you something.

Tell me something ridiculous.

Make me laugh.

Tell me about the weird person you saw at Walmart.

Tell me you spent Saturday watching terrible movies and eating cereal.

I don't care.

Just give me something beyond:

“Good morning.”

Current Hinge Standings

So here's where we are:

Kelli: Unmatched. She has the number. If she wants to use it, she can. I'm not holding my breath.

Gina: Sent a message today! I responded. This one remains officially in play.

Missing Me: Asked about my weekend, received the extended director's cut of my NYC adventure, and followed up the next morning with “Good morning.”

And me?

Still here.

Still asking questions.

Still attempting to communicate.

Still wondering how the hell people meet each other in 2026.

And yes...

Steve the Iguana remains on standby. 🦎

At this rate, he's going to have his own Hinge profile before I have an actual date.

The Hinge Experiment: Pop Quiz, Hotshot. What Do You Do?

Well, yesterday I decided to put it out there.

My phone number.

Okay, technically not my real phone number.

It's a Google Voice number, which I highly recommend for anyone navigating the wonderful, confusing, occasionally terrifying world of online dating. I'm not immediately handing over my primary number to someone I just met on an app.

I'm optimistic.

I'm not insane.

But after several rounds of “Good morning,” unanswered questions, and my increasingly desperate attempts to determine whether we're actually going to have a conversation, I finally sent Kelli:

“Hey! If you want to chat/text...”

And then I gave her the number.

The ball—or perhaps the bomb—is officially in her court.

Pop Quiz, Hotshot

This whole thing is beginning to remind me of one of my favorite lines from Speed:

“Pop quiz, hotshot.”

There's a bomb on a bus. The bus goes over 50 miles per hour; the bomb is armed. It drops below 50, it explodes.

What do you do?

Except this isn't Keanu Reeves trying to save a bus.

This is online dating.

So...

Pop quiz, Kelli.

A guy you've matched with has tried starting conversations.

He's asked questions.

He's suggested going on an actual date.

He's attempted humor.

He's even offered Morse Code as an acceptable means of communication.

Now he's given you a phone number.

What do you do?

Actually, let's change movie genres.

Bottom of the Ninth

Kelli, it's the bottom of the ninth.

Three men on.

Full count.

For my non-baseball readers, that means three balls and two strikes.

The next pitch matters.

There's a stare-down happening between you and the pitcher.

The crowd is silent.

The pitcher gets the sign.

He comes set.

You're standing in the batter's box.

Here comes the pitch...

What are you going to do?

Swing?

Take the pitch?

Step out of the box?

Call time?

Go home?

Download WhatsApp and ask me if I've ever considered cryptocurrency?

At this point, all possibilities remain on the table.

I've done what I can do.

I put the number out there.

If she wants to text or call, she can.

If she doesn't?

Well...

Steve the Iguana remains on standby.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

Just when you thought The Hinge Experiment was becoming a one-woman scientific study...

I MATCHED WITH GINA!

Yes!

MATCH NUMBER TWO!

We have officially doubled the number of matches.

That's 100% growth!

If this were a quarterly earnings call, I'd have a PowerPoint deck prepared, and we'd be discussing our extraordinary year-over-year performance.

So now we have two separate storylines.

Kelli: The number has been provided. The pitch has been thrown. We're waiting to see whether she swings.

Gina: A brand-new match. A completely blank canvas. Unlimited possibilities.

Could Gina be the one who actually communicates?

Could there be a conversation?

Could there be a date?

Could I finally retire my plans to become the weird reptile guy walking the beaches of South Carolina?

I have absolutely no idea.

But suddenly, The Hinge Experiment has a sequel.

Let's see what happens.

And Gina...

No pressure.

But there is currently an imaginary iguana whose future depends on you.